Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "Do you have anything else to say?" Tiburtinus' tone was deceptively mild.

  I suppose when one knocks a man off his feet, there is not much need for yelling.

  "N-n-no, Optio," Avitus wheezed, his mouth opening as he tried to see if his jaw was broken.

  "Good," Tiburtinus said pleasantly, but then he turned to face me and asked quietly, "And you, Pullus? Anything you want to add?"

  I assured him that all of my questions had been answered to my satisfaction.

  "Good." He turned to walk back to Flaccus, presumably to resume his conversation.

  I offered Avitus my hand, which he took while gingerly rubbing the left side of his face, which was already swelling.

  "I guess we're not having a wall," was all I could think to say.

  With nothing much else to do, we sat down and Domitius came and joined me as we sat eating. We were not alone; as veterans, every man in the First knew how often an excursion that was supposed to last less than a full day often turned out to be much longer, so everyone was consuming at least part of the rations they had brought with them. My problem, especially back then, was that I was always hungry, so that despite my sternest admonition to myself, I had just stuffed the last bit of bread I had with me into my mouth when Tiburtinus walked up. Both Domitius and I started to come to our feet; instead, he squatted next to us.

  "We're going to be putting pairs of men up the slope as sentries." He did not waste any time with formalities. "And I've decided that you two are going to be one pair."

  I started to open my mouth to protest, then stopped myself; this is the kind of thing we call the dirty end of the sponge that every man must grasp, and Tiburtinus' demonstration with Avitus was in the very recent past. Besides, it was something of an honor that he trusted the both of us, although I understood he would never express it in those terms. The one troubling thought was my arm; this would be a bad time and place to find out that, contrary to Urso's and my opinion, my left arm was not strong enough to protect Domitius. I must admit that looking down at these freshly written words it makes me chuckle, because despite my compromised arm, it never occurred to me that I would be to the left of Domitius, where he could protect me.

  "Where?" Domitius asked, and I knew him well enough to understand he had come to the same conclusion, that this was neither the time nor place to argue.

  Twisting slightly, Tiburtinus pointed, and my heart leaped as I saw he was pointing even farther east than we already were.

  "See that little fold?" He was pointing to a spot where, for whatever reason, the slope of the hill bulged out a few feet. "I think if you put yourselves up there, about halfway up the slope, it'll put you in the best spot to see as far as possible up the draw."

  While I could see he was correct, what I also saw was that if the barbarians decided to approach from the south, meaning up the slope from behind us, they could use that slight crease as cover to get even closer to Domitius and me than if we were sitting a little farther along. But, I also was forced to admit, Tiburtinus had a good eye; in all likelihood, the spot he pointed out was going to give us the best view along the most likely approach.

  "How many pairs?" I asked, and a look of irritation flashed across the Optio's face, although I suppose he realized it was a fair question; if we heard or saw movement, we would not want to raise an alarm that created chaos because we did not know if another pair of our comrades were in that spot.

  "Eight," he replied tersely, then turned and indicated where he intended to have them placed, pointing to spots on both slopes. Not lost on me was the fact that Domitius and I were going to be the farthest outpost east, which Tiburtinus had deemed to be the most likely direction from which the barbarians might attack. When he was done, he asked sarcastically, "Does that meet with your approval?"

  I flushed, but before I could say anything, Domitius spoke up.

  "We should know where everyone is, Optio. Pullus was just asking so we don't fuck things up."

  Tiburtinus opened his mouth, then shut it, and nodded.

  "You're right," he said finally, standing up. "But now you need to get into your spot before it gets dark. One man sleeps, the other man watches." Then he added something that made no sense to either of us, at least at the moment. "Just make sure that whoever you see coming from that direction are the enemy."

  Domitius and I exchanged a glance, sharing our confusion, but Tiburtinus had already turned away, presumably to go tell the other lucky men; frankly, I was not willing to push matters with the Optio to try and make sense of it. However, I thought of something else.

  "What's the watchword?" I asked. "In case we have to hurry our asses back here?"

  I felt a small sense of vindication as it was his time to turn red as he turned around and grimaced, "Oh, right. The challenge is Divus Julius." He gave a grim smile and gave the countersign. "Pompey Magnus."

  As he resumed walking away, I watched him go for a moment, and Domitius said, "Well, at least our Primus Pilus has a sense of humor."

  By the time we had labored up the slope to our spot, about two hundred paces from the rest of the Century to the east where the fold of land was located, we had just moments before the sun was completely gone. Thankfully, that did not make it completely dark; it was a full moon that night and the sky was cloudless, making visibility as good as it could be at night, although the quality of moonlight makes judging things like distance deceiving, as well as washing out all colors so the eye can only see black, white, or at best, silvery-gray. Nevertheless, I grudgingly had to admit that as far as giving us the best view up the main ravine, Tiburtinus' eye had not lied. Squatting down, Domitius and I quickly arranged ourselves so that I was sitting looking down the ravine, and his back was against mine and he could view up the slope. At least, I thought, until he goes to sleep, because we had drawn straws to see who took first watch, and I had won.

  "I doubt I'll get any sleep anyway," he had confessed, and I agreed that it was unlikely I would either.

  I did feel a bit smug when, not long after we had settled in, I spied movement on the opposite side of the ravine, but a fair distance back in the direction of where the rest of the Century was settled in. Although it was near the spot Tiburtinus had pointed to as one of the other outposts, I still stared intently. I was fairly certain from the location that it was another pair of men, but I continued watching the spot where I had first seen movement. Finally, I caught a glint of silvery light that reflected back at me, and when I leaned forward to keep my eye on it, the movement alerted Domitius.

  "What is it?" he whispered. "What do you see?"

  "I see," I whispered back after expelling most of my breath, which meant I had to turn and place my mouth as close to his ear as possible, "that we need to either take our helmets off, or use some of the leaves and things like that to cover them up. With this full moon, they catch the light and shine like a torch."

  He did not reply, but I sensed that he was impressed, reinforced when he leaned over and grabbed some tufts of the tough, slender grass that managed to eke out a life in the shadow of the larger bushes and trees. Keeping my eyes on the movement, just to confirm my belief that it was being made by friends and not some barbarians, I sensed Domitius moving about.

  There was a rustling sound that lasted for a bit, then his hand suddenly came into my vision as he whispered, "Give me your helmet."

  I complied, then a few moments later, he handed it back and, despite the circumstances, I had to stifle a laugh. Using both the knob where our plumes normally went and the slight space between the brow ridge and helmet, he had managed to weave not only tufts of grass, but small branches, so the leaves jutted above the helmet itself.

  "I look like I'm in the Larks," I whispered, because that was what I was reminded of, the Fifth Alaudae Legion, who I had seen once when they marched through Arelate, their two single lark feathers sticking straight up above their helmets, much in the same way as these leaves.

  "You're welcome." Even
when he whispered, I heard the indignation in his voice, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing as he finished. "You'll thank me when we get back in one piece because of those leaves."

  I did not reply, but I remember thinking that I would indeed do that very thing if all went well. Settling in, I used my shield to rest my chin on as I laid it against my lower legs, my knees drawn up to provide support. After some more wiggling about, Domitius found the most comfortable position, and we prepared to pass a long night.

  I do not know how long it was before all the sounds made by the rest of the Century off to my left as they prepared for the night finally ceased, leaving only the low moaning of the wind, which was noticeably stronger higher up the slope, along with the barely audible sound of water running over the rocky bottom about two hundred feet lower than where we were sitting, and twice that far away. It was something I had noticed before, but that night, I was reminded how far sounds travel after the sun goes down, although I do not know why that is. Despite my belief I would have no problem staying awake, isolated from the relative safety of the rest of my Century, who were in turn separated by a fair distance from the rest of the Cohort, not to mention the Second and Seventh. However, what I discovered was that a constant noise, like a breeze or a babbling brook, has a soporific quality that found me fighting to stay awake. No matter how hard I tried to remind myself of the horrors that awaited, not just for me and Domitius, but all of my comrades if we failed in our duty to provide an early alarm, my eyelids seemed determined to shut. And, as I also learned, the longer the period of time that passes where nothing unusual happens, the harder that struggle is. Finally, I was reduced to biting the inside of my cheek until I could taste blood, but I kept moving my head, my gaze moving eastward up the ravine, then across to the far side. Taking everything into consideration with what we knew about where the main body of barbarians were probably located, I judged that it was most likely it would be from the far side, the north side of the ravine, from which any possible attack would come. My reasoning, as it went, was sound; we had approached from the south, penetrating the southern edge of this area, while there was cause to believe that Draxo and whoever was with him were somewhere to the north. While it was possible they could use the large ravine that we were watching to approach from the east, my feeling was that if they were to use a natural path of that nature, it would be the watercourse that intersected this ravine from the north. However, it was to my left, a fair distance away, and there were almost three full Cohorts bedded down right there, which meant it was not my problem, so I did my best to pay attention and watch east, from where I was sure nobody would come. The belief that the enemy would not use this approach, as we were about to discover, was the only thing I got right that night.

  I was alerted, not by anything moving in front of me, or by Domitius saying anything, but even with our sagum wrapped around our armor, both to lessen the reflection and to muffle any noise when we moved and our armor rubbed together, I still felt his body suddenly stiffen. Less than an eyeblink later, I also heard his breathing suddenly increase in speed, as he was almost panting as his lungs tried to keep up with his heart.

  I almost blurted something, but managed to stop myself, once more expelling my breath and twisting as much as I could, whispering, "What is it?"

  The pressure against my back increased as he leaned backward and whispered, "I don't know," he said softly, "but I…smell something."

  My first impulse was to snicker at the idea he could smell the enemy coming, but before I could, it hit me as well; a sharp, sour odor any Roman who has dealt with barbarians recognizes. It is a combination of unwashed bodies, the smell of wood smoke, and clothes that are washed even more infrequently than their bodies. My guess is my heart started beating as rapidly as Domitius', although I kept my head enough to be very careful as I pivoted around on my rear. Suddenly, his hand moved, and he pointed up the slope, although he did not say anything. Because of my position, looking over his right shoulder, I was able to follow his finger to a spot that, in the few moments we had to examine the immediate area before it had gotten completely dark, I thought was just below the crest of the hill on which we were perched. However, I did not see anything, at least at first. Then there was a flash of silvery light that was not the same as what I had observed earlier from our comrades on the other side; perhaps it was the moonlight reflected off a sword blade, because it was longer and narrow. That caught my eye and, an instant later, I saw movement as well, except it was not moving down the slope towards us, but across it from our left to right. By facing in that direction, the rest of our Century was to our right rear, while the main body was almost directly to our right because of the way the ravine curved, and, in that instant, I realized my belief that the barbarians had no intention of using the most obvious and easiest approach was confirmed. Following immediately on the heels was the recognition that being right did not matter at this moment. My throat closed up as what had been just one man slowly materialized into two, then three, then four. Before I could count to thirty, it was clear that a significant number of barbarian warriors were moving parallel to the ravine, higher up the slope than where we were located. In that moment, I could not ask Domitius, yet I sensed he understood as well as I did that any movement on our part would betray our position, so instead, we just sat there, barely daring to breathe as we watched what I presumed were Draxo's warriors creep by on their way to get in position to attack. I was sure that, even if we remained motionless, they would hear us; either by our breathing or because our hearts were beating so loudly, yet they did not even seem to glance in our direction. However, I realized if they did, from their spot looking downslope, we were covered by shadows. There was no way to tell with any certainty, but judging by the length of time it took before the last warrior crept by off to our right, my guess was that there were at least a thousand warriors. The questions, at least at that point, were whether this was the main body, and whether their target was just our Century.

  Once the brush and vegetation stopped moving, Domitius whirled about to face me, his own just an outline in the gloom.

  "What do we do?"

  In answer, I stood up, hefted my shield, and although I initially picked up one of my javelins, I instantly thought better of it, knowing that in the dark and as heavily forested as the slope was, it would probably end up buried in a tree rather than an enemy. The one problem confronting us was the distance to our comrades, but I have a set of lungs that are blessed to be as large as my chest.

  Just before I filled them, I whispered to Domitius, who had scrambled to his feet as well, "We're about to have company." Then, I bellowed as loudly as I had in my life to that point, "Attack! To arms! To arms! Coming from the south!"

  I am not sure how many times I repeated this, but I was already moving by the second "to arms," heading down the slope except at a shallower angle designed to bring us closer to our comrades. Of course, in the back of my mind was the understanding that I was placing both Domitius and me in the path of a large number of many barbarian warriors, undoubtedly angry the alarm had been raised. Additionally, it would not take much for them to determine we were the cause of that warning. As I let my legs move of their own volition, aided by the pull of whatever it is that makes running downhill so much faster, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Domitius, shield held high and out of the way, just like me.

  Only the gods know how neither Domitius nor I stumbled over the uneven ground, in the dark, while trying to reach the scant safety of the rest of our Century, but we did not. That, however, was the extent of our good fortune. Without discussing it until much later, both of us had the same idea; race down the slope, shouting the watchword, to make it within our lines before the barbarians attacked. But fairly quickly, being in the lead, I could see we would not be successful, as what looked like a rolling avalanche of black, with a waving sword, axe, or spear catching a glint of moonlight to flash silver, moved from upslope to our left and downslop
e to the right, more quickly than we could. Their momentum was greater from going straight down the slope compared to ours as we cut across, and accompanying this onslaught was the sound of hundreds of voices. From our front and left came the howling hatred of what I assumed were the rebelling Colapiani, while to our right, I could hear the sound of the cornu, and Tiburtinus calling our comrades to arms. Despite continuing to run in that direction, both Domitius and I listened in horror as a dark flood of barbarian warriors slammed into our Century, aided by the momentum gained from charging down the slope. I did not have to see it; the terrible crashing sound as the Colapiani collided into however many men managed to stand up, orient themselves to the direction of the attack, and get their shields into position rolled up to us. Naturally, there were shouts, then we got close enough to recognize those men calling out in our tongue and those who were barbarians, punctuated by a shrill cry that, no matter how many times I hear it, makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, because it is the unmistakable sound of someone suffering a serious, probably mortal wound. My only hope was that it came from a Colapiani throat, but there was no way to tell. Seeing we were too late, I tried to gradually slow myself so that Domitius and I could confer to determine our best hope for reuniting with our comrades, except it took me longer than I wanted because of our momentum so that we were some fifty paces higher up the slope and about a hundred paces from the eastern edge of the Century lines. At first, I thought we could make it by running straight down the slope and rejoining our Century from what was now their eastern flank because the men in the last file were still unengaged, yet even as the thought formed what looked like more than two dozen warriors who had been in the rear as their swifter or more courageous tribesmen slammed into our Century saw the same thing I did, and they were closer. I opened my mouth to shout, but because of the moonlight, I saw this threat had been spotted, the men who an instant before were grabbing the harness of the man in front of them now turning to their left to get their shields up, just in time. Like a dark incoming tide, the Colapiani flowed into the ravine, filling it so quickly that every one of our comrades on what an instant before had been the flank was now engaged. For an instant, there was only one thin line of barbarians, but before we could run down there and cut our way through to our comrades, the barbarian ranks deepened as men continued streaming down the slope to join this effort to flank the Century.